


classic hysteria

by algebraicmutiny



Category: Bandom, Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Punk, Fall Out Boy References, HIV/AIDS, M/M, didn't tag otto bc he's only mentioned briefly sorry yall, just tagging it bc theres mentions of it bc its like. the 1980s, sorry if thats false advertising, theres a word limit 2 this thing, theres no sex but that line was just too good not to use for the desc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 04:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/algebraicmutiny/pseuds/algebraicmutiny
Summary: "We should hang out," Awsten says, sidling closer to him and slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Get drinks. Do you drink? I don't. That was stupid. We should have sex."Travis sputters, and Awsten laughs again. Motherfucker.





	classic hysteria

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for travis bc of this tweet https://twitter.com/traviswanteat/status/1007689349327216640  
> it wouldve been longer but theres a 1200 word limit so i worked with it  
> travis if u read this i love ur books and i am So Sorry

"Take a leaflet!"

Travis stumbles slightly as an arm shoots out in front of him, waving some kind of pamphlet back and forth in front of his face. He pushes the arm away, turning to squint at the person who had stopped him. "Excuse me?"

It was a guy, probably around twenty-five, carrying a stack of leaflets as high as his chin, and grinning at Travis like he'd just won the lottery. "Hi! Can I take a moment of your time to educate you on HIV and AIDs?"

"Um," Travis says eloquently. The man is dressed head to toe in leather, which is impressive considering the sweltering heat of the summer afternoon, in Houston no less, and his bright purple hair is sticking to his forehead. Purple. What a colour. He isn't really thinking when he responds, "Sure?"

The guy looks like Travis just gave him the world. "Oh shit! I wasn't expecting you to say yes! Fuck, that's rad, man! Just gimme a sec." The man sets his stack of papers on the ground. "Shit, someone needs to look after these. Geoff! Geoff, where are you, Geoff! Fuck it." He looks back at Travis, kind of sheepish. "Sorry about this." He looks at the pile thoughtfully before bringing his boot (boots in August, Travis marvels) down heavily on it. "That'll do. Now, what's your name?"

"Um, Travis," he manages to get out, still staring at the guys feet. Seriously, boots, in August?

"Sick! I'm Awsten, with a double-u, not like the city." Travis tears his eyes away from the boots (boots in August...) to look at the guys face. He's still grinning. "So what do you already know about it?"

Travis blinks. "Uh?"

"Not a lot, I guess, but that's Reagan's admin for you," Awsten grouses. "Never telling the people anything. That's another thing you can take away from this: never trust the government, man. It's all lies, all of it."

"Oh, god, sorry," Travis interrupts. "That's not-- I know about it, sorry I just. Your boots."

It's Awsten's turn to look confused. "My boots? What about 'em?"

"It--" Travis has no idea to phrase this without sounding like an absolute tool. "It's August, dude."

There's an awkward silence before Awsten barks out a surprised laugh. "Oh man, I like you, Travis. You're a riot! Now, HIV."

"Right," Travis says, faintly. "HIV."

* * *

 

Travis leaves with three separate information booklets on HIV and AIDs and a headache from standing in the sun for so long. Awsten had plied him with facts and figures, accompanying his speech with colourful, hand-drawn graphs and charts, talking fast and earnest, and Travis had been inclined to be impressed. This guy may make poor clothing choices and be difficult to understand at certain points due to intermissions of furious yelling, whether it be at his partners Otto and Geoff, or just in general about the President, or the blatant homophobia present in today's society and the punk scene's lack of acceptance towards the gay community, or excited rambling about the birth of the gay punk movement, but he definitely knew what he was talking about. He had plugged his band halfway through his spiel ("We're Waterparks! You haven't heard of us? Cool, cool, that's chill. You should come to our next show!"), which had led to a list of bands born from the underground scene that he simultaneously looked up to and aspired to differ from ("We're like-- you know Fall Out Boy? Yeah, not that."), and Travis had left with a plethora of new information, multiple invitations to see the band live ("Seriously, we're good! Geoff'll tell you-- Geoff! God, where is he?"), and a slight crush.

Long story short, he was going to their show that evening.

"Jawn," he calls out, kicking the door of the apartment open and dropping the papers and his bag in the entryway. "You home?"

A long, affirmative groan sounds from the first bedroom, and Travis snorts loudly, marching in and yanking the blinds open. Jawn shrieks. "Ow! Jesus Christ! What the fuck! Too bright!"

"We're going out," Travis announces. "I have been successfully wooed by a striking man with purple hair, and we're going to see his band tonight."

Jawn looks up at him blearily from under the duvet. "What band?"

"Waterparks," Travis tells him, grabbing the edge of the duvet. "Now come on, it's four o'clock and I need you to tell me what to wear."

Jawn sighs. "Okay, okay, I've heard of them. We can go."

"That was never up for debate, mister. I told you, I'm in love."

"Shut the fuck up. Give me at least another half an hour before you tell me about your infatuation with another punk boy."

"Oh, _Jawn_ , he was _gorgeous_ , we're gonna have a spring wedding--"

"Oh my _god_."

* * *

 Awsten looks good performing. Anyone with eyes could tell you that, and Travis is fairly certain that he may be wearing even _more_ leather than he had been that afternoon, which is-- impressive, and also kind of hot. He's passionate, screaming into the mic at times and crooning softly at others, and the audience goes wild with it. The band's well liked enough, apparently, with the crowd occasionally singing lyrics along with him, stomping their feet and clapping along with the drums. The guy on the guitar (Geoff? Travis thinks it's Geoff) presses up close against Awsten at certain parts of songs, yelling into the mic with him before bouncing away, banging his head wildly along with the music. Travis wonders if they're together.

Jawn takes photos; Travis just watches, surrounded by sweaty, excited, punk kids, and thinks about how heavy Awsten's boots must be when he's jumping around like that. _God_.

Awsten must have seen them in the crowd (Travis attributes it to Jawn's hair; impossible to miss, really), because he weaves through the mass of moving bodies towards them, grinning, as another band sets up. "You came!" He yells excitedly. Travis nods, and Awsten turns to Jawn. "Jawn Rocha, you motherfucker. Where've you been?" he says, before pulling Jawn into a crushing hug.

"You know each other?" Travis blurts out, stunned. Surely Jawn would've told him that?

Awsten laughs, short and sharp, but amused. "Did he not tell you? Jawn and I were in a band together before!"

Jawn scowls and slips out of Awsten's grip. "You've got to stop doing that, you're gonna break my bones. Yes," he says, turning to Travis. "We know each other. You didn't really give me much time to talk with all your gushing. I wasn't gonna get in the way of your fantasies."

Travis flushes as Awsten looks at him interestedly. "Gushing, huh?" he asks, smile turning into something a little more mischievous. "Aww, that's adorable. You're cute, Trav."

Travis shoots Jawn a glare, but he just winks and slips away into the crowd. "I-- yeah. Whatever."

"We should hang out," Awsten says, sidling closer to him and slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Get drinks. Do you drink? I don't. That was stupid. We should have sex."

Travis sputters, and Awsten laughs again. Motherfucker.


End file.
